


like there's no midnight

by thebitterbeast



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebitterbeast/pseuds/thebitterbeast
Summary: She placed her hand in his cautiously, but there was a hesitation before she spoke, “I must warn you, sir, that I do not know this dance.”
The smile that crossed his lips was breath-taking, and there was no amusement at her expense. He cast a glance at the dance floor as the song changed to something much slower. Neither one of them noticed that her hand still rested comfortably in his, his thumb idly rubbing circles onto the back of her hand, as he gathered his words together.
“It will be alright,” he promised. “Just follow my lead.”
Her fingers tightened imperceptibly, and she dipped her head in acknowledgement. His grin deepened, and Raven fought back a flush, reminding herself that she was at this ball for a reason.
 
or; a Wellven Cinderella AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamlitdaedalist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlitdaedalist/gifts).



> For DDee ([dreamlitdaedalist](http://dreamlitdaedalist.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr).
> 
> When I saw the list of prompts you had given, I automatically knew which one I would be writing. It's not as perfect as I would have liked, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

It took a week for the news to reach Raven’s ears. Even then, it did not truly register. After all, what did it matter to the lowly blacksmith’s apprentice what went on in the capital of Alpha? The woman to whom she owed her livelihood, however, thought otherwise. Not about Raven, no, but about and for herself. After all, she could surely turn being invited to the palace for a ball to her advantage.

That struck with Raven. Working in Mecha, a small town on the outskirts of the capital, stuck as she was under the thumb of a woman who claimed that the debts her mother had incurred were high – so high – that Raven would be working till her death and still never pay them back; Raven wanted more. She deserved more.

And if going to Alpha for the prince’s ball could help her get the attention of a wealthy benefactor, could help her find a way to start her own smithy, away from Mecha and the memories it held, all the better.

After all, didn’t the invitation say _everyone_ was invited?

* * *

She had fretted, after making her plan, about her appearance at the ball. An old dress of her mother’s had been dug out of the meager belongings she had retained, tattered and dated though it was. The young blacksmith was sure she would be able to get it altered and cleaned up in time for the ball.

However, Sinclair had stepped in. The man was the closest thing she had to family these days – a mix of a father and a big brother, she thought. Not that she had anything to compare him too. She had not expected him to have the connections it turned out he had, but she probably should have. After all, he had worked at the palace once, but after a falling out with the physician, Sinclair had left Alpha and moved back to the outskirts of the kingdom to Mecha, where he had stumbled, almost literally, upon Raven.

Still, despite the new fancy dress and the shiny shoes, and the way she had been made up, Raven knew that the faint scars on her cheekbones from her first few attempts at smith-ing and the callouses on her hands, and her limp, would make it very likely that Nigel would recognize her.

And then Sinclair handed her a delicate lace mask that would cover the top half of her face, leaving her chin and mouth bare, and making her look **_“positively mysterious”_** , Sinclair’s husband assured her.

Well then. It was off to the ball for her. 

* * *

The ball was in full swing by the time she arrived, and Raven was nervous. Not that she would ever admit it out loud. She hesitated, just shy of the doors, before she clenched her hands at her sides briefly, squared her shoulders, and walked in as if she belonged.

The music did not stop. No one stood and gawked.

It was – anti-climatic.

She was so glad.

Her eyes were wide under the mask as she took in the opulence of the decorations, and the foods on the tables, and the people dancing. The colours and the noise, it was all over-whelming for the girl who spent her entire day in a smithy, working herself to the bone.

A part of Raven scorned the extravagance of it all. There were people in Alpha struggling to put food on the table for their families, and here, the elite were partying away. Her lips tightened before her gaze landed on a tall man who looked as displeased as her.

She made her way slowly to him, carefully taking him in as she did so. He was dressed well. His clothes were finely made, and fit his broad shoulders well. He was tall – quite a bit more than she was – and his skin was dark, but clear. There were no obvious scars that she could see on his exposed skin. His dark hair was cropped close to his head, and a white mask, almost entirely plain except for a little embossment, obscured half of his face from her.

He must have been a Lord, she decided, one of the few sympathetic to the plights of the masses. He would be more open to her proposal.

She hoped. 

* * *

He caught her eyes before she reached him, and there was a flicker of something – surprise, perhaps? – that made her feel self-conscious and exposed. That _something_ settled back into an impassive but curious expression, and he covered the distance between them. Raven felt wrong-footed, especially when he asked her to dance.

She placed her hand in his cautiously, but there was a hesitation before she spoke, “I must warn you, sir, that I do not know this dance.” 

The smile that crossed his lips was breath-taking, and there was no amusement at her expense. He cast a glance at the dance floor as the song changed to something much slower. Neither one of them noticed that her hand still rested comfortably in his, his thumb idly rubbing circles onto the back of her hand, as he gathered his words together.

“It will be alright,” he promised. “Just follow my lead.”

Her fingers tightened imperceptibly, and she dipped her head in acknowledgement. His grin deepened, and Raven fought back a flush, reminding herself that she was at this ball for a reason. 

Still, her own lips curled up at the edges as she followed him onto the floor. 

* * *

Raven had lost track of the number of songs they had been dancing to. The first one had been a little awkward. She had been unsure how to broach the subject of finding a benefactor, and her companion seemed to catch on to her mood. He had begun speaking, then, a question about whether she was enjoying the ball. Her response had been unfiltered, and in hindsight, could have been seen as rude, but had simply lit a spark in the dark eyes that never left her own.

From there, conversation had flowed easily between the pair, and they lost track of time and place. They were dancing at the edges of the dance floor, Raven’s eyes gleaming as she spoke about her dream of owning her own smithy. Her passion was clear on her face, and it was intoxicating to her companion, though she did not notice.

It was only when they were interrupted by a masked man, taller than Raven but slightly shorter than her companion, with dark curls and serious eyes, that her words stilled. Her companion appeared irritated by the interruption, and the whispered conversation between him and the other man was almost furious, though something in the way they were standing told Raven that while they were tense, it was not with each other.

A third voice joined in their conversation, and Raven startled in her companion’s arms. His grip tightened, just a little, as he cast a glance at her, eyes wide and apologetic. The two men that had interrupted their dance also glanced at her, curiousity clear in their gazes and demeanour. She ignored them, gaping instead at her companion.

_‘Your Highness,’_ the darker man had called him. _‘Your Highness,’_ Raven repeated mentally, in shock. **_“Your Highness,”_** the first man said impatiently again, and the man in question, the man Raven had been dancing with and conversing with, tore his gaze from her to look at the men Raven were realizing were his guards.

Her companion for the evening was the crown prince, apparently. 

* * *

Her companion – the _prince_ – was distracted by the conversation he was having with the guards that had approached them. He was still holding Raven loosely, and Raven cast a glance at him when she was sure he was not looking. It hurt her heart, for reasons she could not explain, but she knew she had to leave.

She had been far too free with her tongue and her thoughts, and though the prince had not condemned her yet, and she did not think he would condemn her for them, she knew better than to stay. Her luck would run out, sooner or later, and she did not want to take any chances.

Raven steeled herself and broke free from her companion’s hold. That caught his attention, and he cut his sentence off to turn to her. His eyes met hers, and the emotion behind them arrested her. Before he could speak, she shook her head, breaking her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and turned on her heel, lifting her skirts as she slipped into the crowd. _‘I’m sorry,’_ she thought as she fought the urge to look back at the figure that had commanded her attention for most of the night. Raven closed her eyes as she paused at the bottom of the stairs and gave in, casting a glance at the doors before she took off into the night.

It had been too good to be true.

* * *

Raven was determined to put the night away in her memories as nothing but a wistful dream. It was impossible, she told herself, to hope that the prince would remember what they spoke of, what she hoped for, what she had told him she was working towards. Instead, she put the dress and the shoes and the mask away, and buckled down to focus on her work.

Life, however, has a strange way of working out.

Like the news of the ball, this news also took days to reach the smithy. The murmurings of the others in the shop were more excited and fervent, but Raven paid them no mind. What could be so exciting so soon after a royal ball?

Apparently, _she_ was.

Not that anyone knew they were talking about her, of course. The word had spread from the castle that the prince was looking for the lady he had spent most of the night dancing with. _They had important matters to discuss_ , was the official proclamation. _The prince was in love,_ were the masses’ speculation.

Part of Raven was excited, her heart thumping in her chest at the thought of the man she had felt such a deep connection with, the man she had hoped would help her reach her dreams. Surely it meant their conversations had sparked something in him too.

Most of Raven was apprehensive, though. The reality of her situation was that she was a blacksmith’s apprentice with debts that were sky high. No matter how good she was at what she did – or rather, _because of_ how good she was at what she did – she would never be able to get away. And so she ignored the fluttering in her heart and kept to her work.

She was resigned to her lot in life.

* * *

A shadow fell over her as she worked, blocking out the sunlight she had been using to light up the sword she was carefully engraving. A frown crossed Raven’s lips, and she lifted her head slightly to tell the intruder to back off.

Her words died on her lips as her eyes met a solemn dark pair she had only seen framed by a mask.

He was the last person she had ever expected to see in the smithy. Yes, she knew he was still looking for her, but she had ignored Sinclair’s urging to approach him, certain that no good would come of it. Certain that the prince would tire of his fruitless search and life would settle back into normalcy.

Raven had never been more wrong in her life, and proof of that was standing right before her.

“Your Highness,” the words soft and unsure, only spoken when the silence had gone on for a beat longer than comfortable. 

“You are a very difficult woman to find,” was his response, though the seriousness of his gaze lightened as his lips twitched into a small smile.

She could not help the answering curl of her lips in response. “I -” There was really nothing she could say to that, and she knew it.

So did he, if his amusement was anything to go by. “Our conversation was cut short at the ball, and I wanted to apologise.” There was an earnestness in his manner that Raven could not help but find endearing.

Still, she pressed her lips together. “ _Apologise_? Your Highness, if anything, it is **_I_** that should apologise.” She had been blunt and forward, and then she had run off into the night. She may have had her reasons, but it had been unbearably rude. Raven was a lot of things, but she had always tried not to be rude.

He simply shook his head and leaned forward. He seemed to be holding himself back from reaching out to physically reassure her. “I was not honest about who I was. It was refreshing, to hold a conversation with someone who had no preconceived notions of me, and I confess that if we had not been interrupted, you would have left the ball none the wiser.” A shadow crossed his face. “That lie of omission would still be a lie that would haunt me. Especially after your honesty.”

There was nothing she could say to that. Raven caught her bottom lip between her teeth and kept her gaze on the prince. He seemed to take it as encouragement to continue.

“I should also apologise for barging in here unwelcomed, but I wished to see if you still desired what we spoke of.”

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing in confusion before comprehension dawned on her face. Surely he could not mean –

He continued, a hopeful smile playing on his lips, “I have a proposition I believe would be an interest to you.” 

Raven’s breath caught in her throat as the meaning of his words sunk in. He _did_ mean it. “Your Highness,” she began haltingly. “I am an apprentice. When I approached you at the ball, I did not…” she trailed off.

This was everything she had dreamed off, then why was she hesitating?

The prince simply smiled. “You may be an apprentice, but your words bely your passion. I have never seen someone who loved their craft as much as you do, and if I could help you achieve your full potential, well, then I have done something good with my life.” He paused. “I must admit I am not doing this purely from the goodness of my heart.”

And there it was. The catch. There always was one. 

“I would like,” he hesitated, before amending his words slightly. “I would appreciate if, in return, you would not mind me occasionally frequenting your smithy. The palace can get cloying, after a time.” There was a pause, and then he continued softly, “I would also appreciate if you would treat me as you did at the ball. Before you knew who I was.”

He had dropped his gaze from hers, and he seemed uncharacteristically shy. Raven would admit she did not know the prince well, but the few stories she had heard had always portrayed him as confident and self-assured.

The man in front of her just looked lonely.

“Your Highness,” she began.

“Wells,” he interjected quickly, looking up and catching her eyes.

The blush that spread across her cheeks had nothing to do with the prince and everything to do with the heat in the smithy. “Wells,” she repeated softly, warmth stealing across her chest. “I appreciate the offer, but your stipulation is not necessary.” Raven had never felt this shy before, but that was the only way she could describe the smile on her lips. “I would like to -” she hesitated, “to be friends.”

The smile that spread across the prince’s – _Wells’_ – lips was startling. He held out his hand to her. She wiped hers hastily on her trousers and gingerly placed it in his grasp. His fingers curled around hers, squeezed gently before he brought her hand to his lips.

It was just a brush of his lips against her knuckles, nothing more, but it felt like a promise of things to come. Wells smiled again, their hands clasped between them. “I believe this is the start of a promising partnership.”

Raven grinned back. “I believe you are right.”

Everything was looking up.

**Author's Note:**

> (For the record, the two guards who approach Wells are Bellamy and Miller. I didn't want it to be explicit, but that's definitely who I was thinking of when I wrote this.)


End file.
